


Ma'am

by Shes-claws-deep (CyrilOdahviing)



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Cum Eating, F/M, Femdom, Fingerfucking, Fingersucking, Making Out, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Sub!Warden, dom!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 02:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20107909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrilOdahviing/pseuds/Shes-claws-deep
Summary: A birthday gift~ Warden is assigned to protecting you, a former bodyguard to a member of a royal family. With insurgents and terrorists hunting you down, you both will have to work together to make it out of the city alive. But the danger isn't going to stop you from jumping Warden when he reveals his attraction to you. No condoms? No problem.





	Ma'am

"Agent McKinley, if you get any closer, you will actually be breathing down my neck," you drawl out, looking up and over your shoulder at your tall, suit-clad, moustachioed shadow. 

"No can do, ma'am," he drawls back in that slow as molasses Southern accent, one that you know he never actually uses except to flirt. "Six said your noggin' is more important than mine. And when Six says jump, I say how high."

Utter lies. You roll your eyes and sigh. "If Six says so..."

Collin McKinley smiles down at you genially. "Thank ya kindly." Then he puts his hand in front of you to stop you from entering the stairwell first. "Let me go first and check it out, ma'am. Protection 101, remember?"

Infuriating. Utterly infuriating. "Of course, Agent McKinley. Take care that you don't get hit in the head when you do." The sneer on your face could freeze boiling water. The man knows full well you're as seasoned a protection agent as he is. Knows full well you're more than capable of not only protecting yourself but also eliminating anyone who comes after you. *You* know there's little beyond an entire army coming after you that will make you stop in your tracks.

But as always, Agent McKinley is steadfast in his annoying polite Southern gentleman facade. "Just ensuring that no hair on your pretty head gets hurt, ma'am," he says and waves you forward after taking a moment to listen. "Six was adamant in making sure you get back to base safely."

And there he goes with that hand to the small of your back, as though to guide you down the oh so scary staircase.

Goddamnit, you can't take it any longer! "Agent McKinley, touch me again and I'll break your fingers and offer it to your boss."

But rather than feel offended or affronted, the infuriating former Secret Service agent just returns his hand to his side without blinking. "Apologies, ma'am. Force of habit." That satisfied smile on his face says otherwise. 

Oh, you know full well how much every move of his is thought out, planned, deliberate. Nothing is ever a 'force of habit'. Not even a hand hovering over the small of your back, touching the back of your blazer but never putting pressure. Is he flirting or is he trying to rile you up? Who could ever know with this man.

Rolling your eyes, you push past him and make your way down the flights of stairs to the garage, ears and eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. As annoyed as you are with Agent McKinley's overbearing 'protection', you have to admit you might actually need it. Apparently being a former royal guard for a now hunted monarch means that you've got a target on your back. You certainly never asked for a terrorist group to come after you. 

Also, better him shadow you than that FBI woman with the stick up her ass or that lazy SAT fellow. Certainly better than the brooding masked agent who absolutely refuses to talk to anyone more than necessary and the cute German who seems to have the best comedic timing and the worst social skills you've ever seen. By process of elimination, perhaps Agent McKinley was the lesser of all the evils. Still, it doesn't stop you from feeling a thrum of irritation as you watch him open doors and enter ahead of you, as he checks over the vehicle and doesn't let you do the same. It rankles at you to be this powerless, to let others do the job that you've always done. To let yourself be protected rather than the protector.

"All clear, ma'am," Agent McKinley pipes up as he trots back to you. Like some overgrown, dark-haired, bespectacled puppy. "We're good to go."

You nod back at him and the two men standing by the vehicle. "Good, then let's go. Is our route secure?"

"Yeah," the man who introduced himself as Echo mumbles. "Ash and Vigil went ahead to scout. They said it's all clear on their end too."

Agent McKinley frowns behind his moustache. You do as well. 

"Tell your colleagues to keep an eye out for motorbikes and cars. These men and women aren't snipers and gunmen." You furrow your brow and draw close enough to the car for Agent McKinley to open the back door for you. "Let's hope they don't get too creative."

"What was it with wishes and horses again?" The newest bane of your existence chuckles. "We've got a plan B, ma'am, not to worry."

You scoff. "Who's worrying? C'mon, let's get going before we become sitting ducks."

"Yes, ma'am," all three men chime out and hop in after you. The German takes the wheel and the lazy genius takes shotgun, his attention turning to the screen in his lap. Apparently, he has some drone going in the air that will serve as his eye in the sky. Agent McKinley just straps his seatbelt on patiently and goes through his various weapons, checking the magazines and making sure there's a round in the chamber in all of them. Interestingly enough, this mirrors your own actions.

How interesting. 

But you ignore his amused look at your grumble, continuing to check your own inventory. Plan B indeed. But instead of an extradition route, as would be the worry for your entourage, you don't like putting your plans to paper. Or rather, you don't like planning in advance. You know the city, the countryside, the suburbs, like the back of your hand. You know your boltholes, your safehouses, and your various ways out of the country. Worst comes to worst, you'll be the one evacuating your bodyguards. 

You hope it won't come to that, though. Three guns, four blades, several mystery vials and smoke bombs later, you finish busying yourself and look up just in time to spot a cute little sedan with a suspicious, nervous-looking driver at the next intersection.

"Blue sedan, white driver, two o'clo-ck!" The last syllable is yelped out as the sedan lurches forward and slams into your car. 

"Contact, contact, contact!" Agent McKinley roars and yanks you down onto the seats, covering your body with his own as bullets tear through the window where your head was. "Jager, get us the fuck out of here!"

"We're boxed in," Jager grunts back, his breath catching as two more cars slam into the front and the back of your SUV. "Plan B. Evacuate the VIP, Warden!"

"You got it," he grunts and shakes glass out of his perfectly coiffed hair. "Give 'em hell, boys."

And by Plan B, the men mean shooting their way out. 

While Jager and Echo draw enemy fire from the front, you and Agent McKinley break out from the back window, slipping free from the wreckage just in time to avoid a fourth car that slams into the passenger's side. 

"Motherfucker!" Your growl is muffled by Agent McKinley's chest as he grabs you and rolls to the side to avoid the wheels. But his rescuing hug leaves an arm free for you to whip out a pistol and fire at the driver. "McKinley, I hope to hell you've got a plan C!"

"This is still plan B, ma'am," he drawls calmly, hooking his arms under your armpits to drag you to safety while leaving you to provide cover fire. 

One gunman goes down, clutching his neck. Another cries out as he slumps against the blue sedan, hands gripping his bleeding thigh and not his now forgotten gun. A third topples over as he tries to bum rush you and McKinley, planting right onto his face as your round burns a neat hole between his eyes. 

"Tell your men to extract once I'm out of sight," you hiss to him as you find your feet and lead the way to a nearby bolthole. "Since they clearly don't mind being shot at, they can help draw attention away while we find another way out of the city. If they're attacking now, they must have our other immediate routes covered. No way we're going to regroup with those two today."

"Roger," McKinley nods and complies with a quiet word. Surprising, considering how overbearing he was just now. That submissive tone of his piques your interest just a little; it's the most agreeable thing he's said since you met him. "Echo, Jager, retreat and rendezvous at point Delta. Going radio silent." Then he rips his earpiece out and stuffs it into a pocket. "You know, this feels familiar."

"Oh yeah?" you growl absent-mindedly, changing out your magazine for a fresh one as you're dragged around the corner of a building. "Why's that?" Another unlucky soul gets downed just as he rounds the corner after you, slamming into the ground with a sickening thump that you and McKinley both ignore. "I've got a bolthole not too far from here. Follow me." Without checking if he follows you, you turn and jog quickly down the alleyway. 

"You and me, evacuating Baldwin a couple of years ago off the streets of Marrakesh." He follows you as he speaks, shiny oxfords barely making a noise on the rough concrete as he does so. "Finding one of your safehouses, waiting out the insurgents. Watching you sneak out to recon our exfil." 

That mouth of his never stops moving, but strangely enough, his voice helps calm your oddly frayed nerves as you lead him down winding alleys and shady slums. You probably should've taken up your last shrink on her offer to talk about the reason why you left the Royal service, fuck. Who knew that a bunch of cars slamming into your own car would rattle you so much. At least your aim is still true and your experience keeps your hands from shaking, you think, because it would humiliate you to no end if you couldn't even protect yourself at this point.

But as much as you're trying to hide it, McKinley's eyes are ever sharp. "We close to the bolthole yet, ma'am?" He can see the wide pupils of your eyes, the way you're obsessively patting over your other hidden weapons, the way your lip trembles ever so slightly when you turn to answer him.

"Yeah, just up here." You nod up at the run-down, condemned building. "Up the fire escape, McKinley, let's go."

"Yes, ma'am."

The bolthole, one of many in this very city, is small. Bare. Purposed for a single person to take shelter for a night or two. So when you take a tall, well-built man and an average-sized woman and put both inside such a tiny space? You get a very irritated, and a very amused, pair of unlikely comrades.

"McKinley, do me a favour and plaster yourself to the wall so you're not constantly smothering me."

"I'd love to, ma'am, but I ain't flexible enough to bend over the counter," he quips back, though he does arch his back a little and shuffles out of the way so you can unload your arsenal on the tiny little table. "You know, if you wore some heels, you wouldn't have the trouble of having your face in my chest."

You roll your eyes. "Oh yes, let me wear heels and totter all around the city while running away from baddies," you mock him in a high pitched voice, one that doesn't seem to do anything other than tickle his funny bone by the way he's sniggering at you. "If only I could break their necks with it before I do myself."

"But at least you'll look good while you fall over?" McKinley shrugs and laughs as he dodges your thrown boot. Unlike Mr Secret Service, you prefer working boots over looking sharp these days. Which means a steel toe and a blade in the sole. "Kidding, darlin'. Just kidding. You look good in anythin' you wear."

As you shrug off your blazer and bulletproof vest, you glare at him over your shoulder. "'Darlin''? What happened to 'ma'am', huh? Mr Southern Gentleman."

McKinley sucks in air and hisses it out, the sound becoming oddly sexual when paired with the feel of the gust of wind on the back of your neck. "You like it when I call you 'ma'am', eh? I like it too."

"Don't you dare-" Whirling around, you plant a finger in his chest and glare up at him, only to look down when you realise your finger touches bare skin. "Did you just magically lose your clothes?" Although you have to admit, he looks *good*. Like, 'you'd lick chocolate off him' good. Just a healthy sprinkling of hair over his meaty pecs, a sexy happy trail going down into his belted slacks, and a little bit of fur over his forearms, but he looks damn good. 

In fact, he looks so good, you didn't even realise you were staring a touch too long.

"My eyes are up here, ma'am." His voice melts into that twang that you love to hate and hate to love, drawing your attention back up to his brown eyes. They're smouldering, full of lust and passion both, fluttering between your chest, your finger, and your face. "Shame we're on the job."

Slap!

He gasps out a moan at the impact, his face swinging to the side from the impact of your palm hitting his cheek. But it wasn't a moan of pain; rather, it was a moan of pleasure. Looks like someone is kinkier than you could ever imagine. And that turns you the hell on.

"No, Agent McKinley." His eyes grow wide when you take a step towards him, pressing him back until his knees bump against the tiny cot. "*You* are on the job."

"Sure am." He nods, a cute little blush rising on his cheeks as he falls back on the cot with a quick shove. "Don't suppose I could, ah, take a little break for a bit? Reckon we're safe for now."

Another slap. Another moan. Another trembling lip and an amused smirk. 

"Never took you to be a man who likes to be slapped around a little," you purr and lean over him, pressing your palms over his built chest just to feel his chest hair scratch at your callouses. "And no, no breaks for you."

He chuckles a strangled laugh, his hands clutching at the threadbare sheets and his hips squirming a little when you brace a knee between his thighs, pressing dangerously close to where he's rock hard and aching. "What red-blooded man could resist a powerful woman like you, ma'am? Especially when you're slapping me around in nothing but your underwear."

Another slap. Another even louder whimper. 

"Don't be crass, Agent McKinley." You mimic his drawl in a mocking manner, retreating long enough to snatch his tie from the pile on the floor. "I'm not doing this for you."

His breath comes hot and fast, his chest rising and falling quickly as you yank him up the bed and loop the tie around his neck once more. "You ain't, but hell if this isn't going to benefit me to-o!" The O is cut short as you tie the fabric to the iron bars, anchoring him down and ensuring that he can't get out of it without using both hands. Hands which you're pinning by his sides with your knees, squeezing almost painfully tight but eliciting only a strangled moan instead of a wince.

Shit, Collinn McKinley is a hell lot kinkier than you take him for. What a coincidence that this is all up your alley.

"I think I like you a lot better when you're just making noises," you drawl and shimmy out of your pants and panties. The wet stickiness of your pussy juice soaks the lining of your panties, chilling your hand just a little as you wad it up. "Now keep quiet and let me enjoy this." 

"What, you don't like me ta-" He doesn't manage to finish his sentence since you take the opportunity to stuff your sodden panties in his mouth. Jamming it and his tongue so he can only sputter and close his teeth once you take your fingers back. "Mmhh!" Well, if you want to play dirty, he's certainly not going to complain. Although, the missed opportunity to offer you his mouth to get yourself off is a bit of a waste. Still, he's got his hands, doesn't he? He's going to put that to good use, whether you slap him again for it or not.

Actually, he's almost asking for it.

With that in mind, he wriggles a hand free and closes it around your thigh as you slide yourself over his belly to straddle him.

"Oi!"

Collinn can only smile at the slap to his face. Jackpot. And yet he doesn't take his hand off you, relishing in the feel of your silken skin beneath his calloused hand, the warmth of you that almost burns his palm as he squeezes you gently. 

On your end, you're struggling not to enjoy his touch too much. But fuck, he's got wonderful hands and he knows exactly how to make you feel worshipped even with just a single touch. He doesn't stray beyond your thigh, your hip, and your waist, only his long fingers touching the sensitive skin of your ass, never reaching for your sodden pussy lips that rub against his muscled belly. "Hmph, you're lucky you know what to do with those hands."

There goes his smug smirk. "Mm-hm."

You know what they say about infuriating smirks and wanting to kiss them off his mouth? Yeah, that's exactly what you're feeling right now. Uncaring about his perfectly styled hair, you slide your hands into those dark locks and ball your fingers into a fist, using it to tilt his head back and bare his lips so you can lick and kiss at them lightly, teasingly, riling him up until he's clawing at your back.

"Tease," he mumbles through the panties, pushing it out of his mouth enough that your next kiss is full on the lips. "You're such a fuckin' tease, ma'am."

"You got that goddamn right, McKinley," you growl and tug harder on his hair, pulling and pulling until he winces instead of moans, his jaw dropping from the sharp, erotic pain. "I am a fucking tease."

As much as he wants to quip something smart back at you, he's far too preoccupied with you finally kissing him full on the lips. And when you slip your tongue out so you can give him cute little kitten licks, he can't resist opening his mouth and trying to suck on your tongue where he can. Your taste is addictive, like he substances he swore off on so long ago, urging him to keep kissing, keep sucking, keep licking until his head starts to spin with your taste and your smell. 

His lips are sinfully perfect, kissing you just the way you love. Even his soft moustache isn't detracting from his incredible skills. Then it turns out that McKinley is excellent at more than just kissing and making out, because when you lean up to take a break and stretch out your arms, he follows you and latches onto your neck. He sucks at your flesh, nipping at it gingerly with his teeth and then laving at the bruised skin with his tongue, all the while panting softly with an open mouth. 

Unwilling to let him take the lead, you yank on his hair and jerk his head to one side to expose his ear. An ear that you promptly suckle like you would his cock. Breathing and moaning and hissing into it until he's squirming and digging his nails into your back. 

"You're far too good at picking out my weakspots, darlin'," he gasps out thinly, his cock throbbing and threatening to split the seam of his boxers and his slacks. "Fuck!" A powerful shiver wracks his body when you react to his swear by licking at his earlobe and pulling it into your mouth to suck. "Fuck!"

A dark laugh escapes you at his helpless whimper, so very different from the very in-control Secret Service agent that you know him to be. "Mmm, something wrong, Agent?"

He growls, "You goddamn tease, ma'am. Just fuck me!"

Now here's a proper laugh. "Fuck you? With what, your unprotected cock? No condom, no fucking, Agent."

Who the heck stocks their bolthole with condoms anyway? You certainly never imagined bringing back a beau to fuck in this tiny space. Still, it doesn't stop you and him from groaning in disappointment. From what you felt in his pants, he's gotta be packing a decent cock in there. Then again, you're pretty unprepared, and who says you have to go without penetration just because you can't use his cock?

"Give me your hand."

McKinley hands his hand to you without complaint, watching you with keen eyes as you lick his, thankfully clean and freshly washed, fingers and lower it to where you're aching the most. Oh god. Oh fuck. If he thought you were a tease before, it's got nothing on what you're doing now. Because you're slowly sliding his fingers into your sopping, soaking wet pussy. Taking them knuckle deep and stuffing even more when you decide that a single digit isn't enough. Then when you find the perfect thickness, oh that's when you start to ride his fingers like you would his cock. His poor, poor cock that lies just mere inches away from where his fingers have found the heaven between your legs.

As expected, his fingers curve instinctively, seeking that one spot that will make you gasp and growl with pleasure. And find it he does, pressing so deliciously that you snarl at him to move his hand faster, to fuck you harder, to keep that spark going until your finger on your clit takes over and helps you cum. It's not the most powerful orgasm you've ever had, far from, but it's enough to make you moan quietly and claw at his bare chest as you ride the wave of intense pleasure.

He stares up at you with wonder and intense lust in his eyes, watching you ride out your orgasm and slump down ever so slightly. With a light sheen of sweat covering your skin and your hair ever so slightly mussed, you look like a goddess in the waning light that shines through the broken, frosted windows. He's not quite sure when he started to look at you as more than just a VIP, as more than a fellow bodyguard. If he wasn't certain you'd hit him for it, he'd say you're more like the previous head of Rainbow herself. A force of nature, wild, powerful, and something to be in complete awe of. 

But he keeps that all to himself. An easy thing to do when you take his hand out of you painfully slowly, relishing in the obscene sucking sound as your greedy pussy finally lets go of his fingers. "Clean this up for me," you murmur breathlessly, turning his fingers onto himself and stuffing them into his willing mouth. 

As he has most of his career, he obeys without a word, instinct spurring him to lick and suckle at his fingers like he would a popsicle. Sucking and taking your mouthwatering slick off his fingers and onto his tongue. The deep, musky, delightfully salty-sweet taste of it makes him moan without thought, his tongue becoming more and more greedy as he licks between his fingers, desperate to take every little drop you've left behind.

"Good boy," you croon at him with lidded eyes. "Never thought you'd be such a good boy, Agent McKinley. But I'll be nice this once. You want a reward?"

His moustache twitches. "Fuck yeah."

"Get up." With a grunt, you untie his tie from the bed and haul him off, bringing him to his knees. When he's there, kneeling and looking up at you with those fiery eyes, you bend your head and kiss him roughly. "Take your cock out."

"Yes, ma'am." He obeys. Flings his belt to the side, almost tears the button and zip off his slacks. But he eventually gets his cock out, his perfect, throbbing, thick cock that's weeping precum and drooling onto the floor. 

"Put your cock between my legs."

What? He looks up at you with a raised brow. 

Rolling your eyes, you take over by bending and pinning his cock between your thighs. While you generally curse your short height, at this point you're grateful for it because his cock is sandwiched between the soft flesh of your thighs rather than the bony bits of your knees. "Move."

"Nnngh, thank you, ma'am," he whispers, his arms wrapping around your hips to help balance you as he begins to thrust his hips. Soft, slicking sounds come from behind you as he fucks your thighs; the sound of his foreskin slicking against his pre-cum soaked head, joining the sounds of you kissing the life out of the agent even as he fucks your thighs desperately. 

"Fuck my legs till you cum. If you don't cum, too bad," you purr into his lips, enjoying the low groan as he nods his understanding. Deciding to give your lips a bit of a break, you rear up and rip your bra off. You want his lips on your tits and you want them there right now. 

Collinn knows exactly what you want and gives it to you. He sucks, licks, and kisses your nipples and creates little hickies along the way. Worshipping your breasts with teeth and tongue and hands until you're clutching at his hair, pulling him ever closer until his face is squished in your cleavage. All the while he's pounding your legs like he would your pussy, his hips slapping against your thighs until both of you are starting to turn red from the impact. 

Ah, but it takes surprisingly little time before he begins to beg you nice and pretty. "May I cum, ma'am?" He gasps into your chest.

"Mmmm," you purr and scratch at his scalp. "Not yet."

"Fuck!" 

Undeterred, he tries again. "Pretty please, ma'am?"

"Not yet."

He's starting to lose his mind from holding his orgasm back. It's so close, he can taste it, can feel it rising in his balls. "Please!"

"Not yet. Hold it."

Finally, he breaks, snarling and clawing at you and seizing your lips with his own. "Fucking please let me cum, for god's sake! You're gonna drive me up the goddamn wall."

"That's the point," you cackle aloud. But you relent nevertheless. "Cum for me, slut."

Those four words tip him over the edge. "FUck!" He yells but squeezes it back into his throat, gritting his teeth and burying his face into your chest. His hips thrust uncontrollably, his twitching cock sending his cum spurting out and all over the place. Grunts and whimpers escape his throat long after his cock stops leaking cum, leaving his throat dry and sticky and aching as his head is pulled up and back so he can look up at you.

"You liked that, Agent McKinley?" Your voice is smug now.

A faint smile twitches across his handsome face and he cracks an eye open. "I goddamn loved it." Then he leans up to press a kiss to your smiling lips. "Ma'am."

Cheeky motherfucker. Well, you've got something that will keep him quiet for a while. "Good. Now clean this up. With your mouth." 

Oh fuck, you've got him. You've fucking got him.


End file.
